The magic of Christmas
by Gingerfalcon
Summary: France plans on spendig Christmas with his beloved but Canada doesn't respond. He's losing all his hopes but what he does not expect is a visitor... One-shot Franada


AuthorDisclaimer: I don't own the characters or Hetalia although I own the plot.

Author's note: Heya guys, this is my first Franada fanfic and I hope you'll enojy it :))

France looked up from his work and stared out of the window beside his table. It was almost Christmas Eve and there was still no sign of snow. He sighed and propped his chin with his hand. Speaking of Christmas, France thought it would be a perfect opportunity to get close with Canada under a Christmas tree, so he sent him an invitation to come over and help him with the tree. Five days has passed already and the Canadian hasn't replied yet. Surely the mail took quite a while to be delivered but Francis was already giving up a hope. With a sigh he averted his gaze back to the table and started rummaging through the papers again. Suddenly, a small paper fell out and landed on the floor. France bent down and took it between his fingers. It was small, square and white. He flipped it over and froze. It was a photograph of Canada, taken last year at their trip to Vancouver for the winter Olympics. He stared at the photo for a while, memories overflowing him, then he straightened up and leaned the photo against a pen holder. When he was about to get back to signing papers once again a doorbell cut him off of doing anything else than rushing to open the door.

_Maybe it_'_s a postman. Reply from Mathieu. Could it be? _

He literally flew down the stairs and then almost tripped over the carpet under the staircase. He swallowed the profanities and narrowed it. Then once again he rushed towards the door. Hastily, he threw them open and froze immediately. It really was a reply from Canada, just in a slight different form than he imagined.

After a while of awkward silence Matthew squirmed shyly, a blush forming on his cheeks.

"Hi," he managed to stutter with a small voice. The Canadian was already starting to worry that he shouldn't have come like this, without warning. Honestly, back in Canada, he thought that perhaps it would be nice to surprise France like this and maybe… His thoughts were cut off by a sudden bright smile on France's face and a loud whoop of joy.

"Mathieu! What are you doing here?!" the slight blush on Canada's face turned into a dark shade of crimson when the Frenchman jumped from the door and threw his hands around him. He could barely respond to the embrace as France pulled away too quickly.

"Come now, come inside, you surely had a long journey; I'll go make some pancakes. In the meantime, you can go drop your suitcase to the guest room, you know the way, right?" he withdrew the man inside the house, closed the door and turned back to him with a beaming smile on his face.

_So cute, _he thought_._

"I-I... yes, I think I do but you don't have to-"he was cut off when Francis clapped his hands in an exaggerated motion.

"Great. Then I'm off to the kitchen. Make yourself at home," he said, then turned on his heel and disappeared behind the door from the entrance hall.

Matthew stood perplexed in the hall and didn't know what to do. Well, he knew he was supposed to take his suitcase to the guest room, it was just... Everything happened so... quickly. He stood there for a while and then decided to do as expected. He shook off his shoes, took them to the shoe cabinet and slid them inside. Then he turned back to the staircase and went for the guest room.

It wasn't that he has never been to France's house; it was just the fact that no matter how many times he's been there, it always left him amazed. The majesty and the glamour it possessed in every piece of furniture, every antique, ornament, decoration that would otherwise look odd- it all looked so fascinating, it just couldn't be ignored. Like if everything was practically shouting for attention while it beamed with quiet grace.

Canada finally reached the heavy, umber, oak doors to the guest room, right next to a giant painting by Monet. It was odd and beautiful at the same time. He opened them and slipped inside.

Francis rushed to the kitchen, while in his mind jumping high to heavens from joy. He couldn't believe it. Matthew, his Matthew was there, in his house, in the entrance hall with a big suitcase. Undoubtedly he'll stay over Christmas. At least he cleaned in advance, just in case. Also he made some shopping. Now he was really glad that he did.

After about ten minutes had passed, a sweet smell was lazily rolling from the opened kitchen door and a cheerful humming echoed all over the place. It was enough to stop the hungry Canadian from unpacking his suitcase and draw him downstairs. He changed in to a comfortable hoodie and his favourite pair of jeans. With a silent patter of his colourful socks on the soft carpet (there was no time to change them as his stomach started to rumble a lot), curiously he peeped into the kitchen. France, wrapped in a red apron stood behind the stove and held a pan with a pancake on it. Next to him, on the marble kitchen countertop, sat a plate with at least dozen pancakes, maple syrup dipping over them, smelling irresistibly. Canada's eyes widened at the sight and he felt dizzy as the smell now hit his nostrils with its full power. France noticed a messy blond head peeking inside the room and he let out a small chuckle.

"Are you coming in or you're going to just stand there, slobbering?"

Canada blushed and shyly walked inside the room. He noticed the table was already set up.

"Um, sorry." he mumbled with a squirm, looking at his socks. He felt ashamed now that he didn't change them at least to the same colour. France took a glance at the smaller man standing in the middle of the room. He chuckled again and flipped the pancake.

"Just take a seat, I'll be with you in a second." Then he slid the last pancake on the plate, poured some maple syrup over it and placed it on the table. With a smile he sat across Canada and watched him put the pancakes on his plate hastily. He was about to start eating, when he looked at France.

"Uh, thank you Francis. I was really starving. How is it that you always know when I'm hungry?" he said with a shy smile.

"It's the French sensor." He replied with a smirk. Canada blushed and started filling up his empty tummy. France just watched him with adoration, head propped with his hands. A silent music was filling the quiet room and after a while, France got up and started cleaning up.

Matthew glanced at the other man, maple syrup dipping from his chin.

"You're not going to eat?" he asked as he watched Francis whirl around.

"Non," he replied with a lilting voice. "It's all for you, mon cher." Then he turned around and his gaze fell on the Canadian's chin. He grinned and moved to the table. Along his way, he grabbed a napkin and reached to wipe away the syrup. The blue Canadian eye, with a shade of violet, widened, but again, Francis was too quick to let him respond. Then, with a giggle, he swayed back to the sink.

...

About an hour later, when Canada was fed, and everything was cleaned up, on France's command, they put on warm coats and headed outside.

"So, what do you want me to do?" Canada started casually.

"Well, at first I want you to be careful and secondly, I want you to help me to cut the Christmas tree." He winked and cheerfully he approached a small wooden shed in the back garden. After a while of rummaging through a bunch of tools, he came out with an axe in his hand, triumphant smile on his face.

"Come!" he waved at the other cheerfully and started walking further into the garden. Canada rushed after him and they stopped under a grandiose fir with dark green needles. Matthew could smell the sharp scent of the tree. It reminded him of home.

"So, we'd better get working before the sun is gone." France cut through his thoughts and moved towards the tree while removing the case on the axe.

"I'll be doing the cutting part; you can hold it until I'm done. Then we'll move it inside. The holder is already prepared in the living room." Canada nodded and approached the tree to hold the trunk.

"Bon, au travail!" France announced with a smirk and shoved the axe into the tree.

...

"Ah! Watch out!"

"...My eyes!"

"Oh, are you alright?"

"Yes, it just scratched me. But I think I have dirt in my eyes..." Canada wiped his hand into his coat and rubbed his eyes. So far they have managed to cut the tree and move it to the entrance hall, but then it got stuck in the doors to the living room.

"It's stuck. We need to squeeze the branches together, somehow. It's too big."

"I know, but it'll be beautiful, just you wait." Francis winked and started clutching the branches together.

After about fifteen minutes of squeezing and pulling and pushing, finally they managed to push the tree inside the room. With the final pull, when the tree surrendered, as it was too heavy, the sudden thrust sent them both flying to the ground. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

...

"Wow."

"I know. It's beautiful. And it will be even more beautiful when we decorate him!" Francis clapped his hands cheerfully and almost jumped out of joy. The tree was standing in a holder, surmounting to the heights, smelling beautifully and the best part yet to come. Canada looked at him with expectation, sparks flashing in his eyes, his usual shyness gone completely.

"Well, come, let's get the Christmas decorations!" shouted France and ran out of the room, Canada quickly following behind. They crossed the main entrance hall and went behind the giant staircase. Behind it, there were another oak doors. France pulled them open while they creaked in objections, and started descending another staircase, smaller this time, hidden behind the doors. Canada hesitated for a while, but hurried over when France's head disappeared. The small, curved stairs led to a dusted room, lit only very poorly.

"I'm sorry for the mess, but you see, we only come here for decorations or an emergency. Which... hasn't happened for a while." added France and knocked on the wooden frame on the wall. Then with a loud crack he opened another door at the end of the room all covered in dust and webs. He lit a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling and bent down a little. Then he rummaged around for a while and after about a minute he turned back to Canada with a victorious smile.

"Here!" he smirked and handed Canada surprisingly clean box covered with crimson red paper.

"You can put it on the floor while we gather them all up and then we will take them up." said France, his voice muffled by another loud rumble.

"Okay."

Box after box, every one of them completely clean and wrapped up in the same red paper, they gathered all the needed decorations and gradually carried them to the living room. While doing so, they were talking almost constantly, laughing and joking. Canada's shyness long forgotten, feeling very comfortable side by side with France. It was very comforting, possessing some kind of spell under the thick cover.

...

"Do you believe in magic?" asked France while hanging a shimmering Christmas ball on a malachite branch. Canada looked up from his seated position on the floor near a fireplace with a crackling fire inside. Outside, the sun was already setting and the atmosphere was getting rather dim.

"What do you mean?" Canada was confused, stopped mid-attaching a hook to another Christmas ball.

"I mean," France looked at Canada significantly and leaned in to take the decoration from his hands. For a moment he stared into his gleaming eyes, mirroring the sparkling flames then pulled away with a smirk. "...If you believe in... Santa Claus?" he was practically beaming with joy. Like a little boy, with wide eyes, full of sparks and innocent expectations.

"I-I..." Canada didn't know what to reply. France looked so honestly excited; he didn't want to stifle the flashes in his blue orbs. He squirmed and glued his gaze to the floor. He was shy again.

"I-I don't know... I mean... I did, when I was little but..." he trailed off, realizing he damaged the spell of the atmosphere.

"I do."

Canada looked up onto the Frenchman's face. It was shining so bright, it looked almost scary, like his face was on fire itself. Canada opened his mouth to reply but was cut off when France turned around and bent down to the box next to him.

"I do. And so he can spot our window, when riding his chiming sleigh through the dark skies in the night of Christmas Eve," he continued, his voice muffled by his bent position, "we must put up the Christmas lights!" he straightened up and turned around in one swift motion, dragging the Christmas lights out of the box and around to show Matthew. Or at least he tried. He did it all too quickly and consequently got tangled and stumbled. Matthew was immediately up on his feet to catch Francis, who was now about to fall. But when anything can go wrong... You know the drill. So instead of catching France, Canada stumbled over the cables of the Christmas lights and dragged France with him to the floor. They fell with a loud bang accompanied by immediate whines and moans from the Canadian crushed under the heavy Frenchman.

"Ooouuch..." He breathed out and squeezed his eyes shut. France looked at the pained grimace of the man beneath him and burst out laughing. 

"Well... That was very ... Smart," he managed to choke out through the laughter. Canada moaned again. "Oohh, damn it that hurts... Sorry, can you move, please?" He kept his eyes closed. France snickered and slid from the man but leaned against his side and kept close. He was still tangled with the lights. Canada slowly half-opened his eyes and his eyelashes fluttered. Then he realized he was staring into France's eyes only inches from his. His eyes widened and he blushed. He averted his gaze and looked up to the ceiling. When his eyes reached the wall upon them, all blood present in his veins drained out of him and his heart skipped a beat then started racing furiously. 

"Are you alright?" France cut through his thoughts, his voice playful. Was it Canada's imagination or France's voice really sounded like purring...? He carefully looked at France illuminated by the flames from behind. His hair was literally shining and he looked like an angel. Canada realized how handsome he looked. Golden locks of hair tied in a loose ponytail, now a bit messy, shimmering skin so soft and pale, eyes so blue as if all seas and skies mingled together and lips so... Canada couldn't hold his affection anymore. His heart was beating so fast and so hard, he might actually got heart attack, but he didn't care. He lifted his hand to cup France's face, leaned in and kissed his delicious lips.

France was delighted to see blushing Canada. This way he would submit easier. Finally it was the moment he was waiting for during the whole day. And now his time has come to finish his plan. He was about to point out the mistletoe above them and sneak a kiss but he got lost in his thoughts while looking to the mix of blues and violets in the Canadian eyes. Then his trail of thoughts was cut off by a pair of warm lips pressing against his. 

France's lips were warm and soft, very soft. They were delicious and tasted of wine and lavender. It felt amazing. It felt right. That one kiss possessed everything Canada has yearned for, for so many years. It was nice and slow but also it was quickly gone as Canada panicked. 

France was perplexed and left out of breath. Canada was kissing him. And France wasn't the one who initiated the kiss. He couldn't believe it. This Canadian just kept surprising him. But before he could respond, Canada pulled away. Suddenly it felt so cold. He looked into the other man's eyes. They were all panicked and slowly filling up with tears. France smiled inwardly. Good, old Canada is back. 

"I-I-I'm s-so sorry... I-It' just the… the..." he pointed to the ceiling,"...m-mistletoe. I-I didn't want to ... r-ruin t-the trad-dition..?" France chuckled. 

"Oh, really?" he asked playfully. Canada didn't reply. He was drowning once again in the light blues of France's skies. 

"Oh, Mathieu, mon cher," he purred. "How I wish this would be a whole year tradition." He added with a smirk and looked lovingly at the little Canadian that was not so little at all.  
>Canada noticed the change in France's eyes. There was something new. Something very tender, very warm, very... welcoming. Love? Could it be? Canada reddened like a tomato. He didn't know what to respond. Then something caught his eye. He looked to the side, at a huge part of wall that was all made of glass.<p>

"Oohh..." he whispered as he looked outside.

France followed his gaze. It was snowing. France's heart melted. He laughed like a little boy who got a new toy car. Then he returned his gaze to Canada.

"Aaah, Mathieu. You brought snow to my lovely country." His expression softened.

"Je t'aime, Mathieu." Canada's heart stopped.

"I-Is it because of the snow?" France snickered.

"That only made me love you more- if that's even possible." He winked with a beaming, loving smile.

"Je t'aime aussi." Canada whispered, his voice stuck in his tightened throat.

France cupped Canada's face and leaned in. Two pairs of heated lips crushed against each other with newly acknowledged passion.

The flames were crackling behind them, slow music was filling the room and the icy snowflakes silently covering the green world outside, changing it into a winter paradise.

If you looked at the scenery from the outside, you would find it calm, as if everything was asleep. You wouldn't notice there was a fire inside. A great bonfire caused by two burning hearts.

...

"Do you really believe in Santa?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Hm. Because he brought me you. And the snow. The two missing things I adore. Like two missing puzzle pieces from a perfect Christmas image."

"You know I came by plane and not by sleigh with reindeers, right?"

"Details."

He chuckled.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Fin.

/some more fluff/

Can: Heya, I'm back!

France: *throws at Canada but jumps right back immediately* You're cooold. *clutches hands to his chest*

Can: *smiles nervously* Y-Yea, sorry, it's freezing outside.

France: *softens and smiles* Never mind. Wow, you even smell of cold. *chuckles* You're like a snowflake, did you know?

Can: Really? *throws off his shoes*

France: Yup, cold but beautiful. *pecks a kiss on Canada's cheek*

Can: *reddens to the tips of his ears*


End file.
